Who's Up First?
by Coke Cam
Summary: Sequel to "Coffee, Tea or Me?" As Jane investigates the mysterious midnight murder in her apartment building, knowing full well that Maura was responsible for what the neighbors overheard, Maura begins to wonder why it's always her turn and never Jane's...could the lovestruck detective have some performance anxieties that make her more comfortable pitching than catching? (Complete)
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer – you damn well know I don't own any of this.**

**A/N: So after a two month separation for work and duty, the spousal unit is finally home safe, and then guess who gets sent out unexpectedly on assignment for nine days? My turn! But I also have a laptop and lots of downtime, so for those kind reviewers who asked for more to the story begun in ****_Coffee, Tea or Me?_****, here you go. (I'm not fishing for clicks, but it would be worth your while to read that one first, to understand how we got here.)**

**We're still all Rizzles, all good with the girls, still fun, but there's some serious things here because Jane…well, nothing's ever simple with her and sometimes the kindest and most considerate behavior can also be a shield to deflect attention from a lurking vulnerability.**

**Yes, it really is possible to write an M rated story with humor and heart, M with emotion and drama, M with substance and character! Or, uh, at least try to…**

* * *

Maura Isles wasn't in the habit of falling asleep on the couch under any circumstances, much less while watching a baseball game, even the Boston Red Sox who had somehow reached the final throes of the pennant race despite what Jane called a shallow bullpen, whatever that was. (Maura had never seen a bull anywhere near a baseball stadium and had been meaning to look into the etymology of the expression.) But maybe it didn't count as she hadn't really fallen asleep—actually, she had passed out cold in what could only be described as a complete and utter sex coma.

She had suspected that such a thing might exist, but not for her. Not until last night when Jane Rizzoli had first kissed her on the mattress in the middle of her apartment living room floor. She suspected that what had followed had left some kind of half-shadow of their bodies on the walls in the aftermath, like the images of disintegrated bodies at nuclear bomb blast sites. She couldn't check though because she wasn't at Jane's right now and wouldn't be invited back for some time, not after what else had happened last night.

A guilty flush began to rise in her face at the memory of their conversation in the precinct elevator that morning when Jane—Det. Rizzoli, in her official capacity—had told her there had been a report of a murder the night before, from Jane's own apartment building. No, she had said patiently, they hadn't slept through a crime…they had committed it, after a fashion, and it was Maura actually who had been the victim overheard screaming for mercy and a half dozen similar things.

She had been mortified at the thought of the trouble she had caused, that her response had been so intense as to cause a neighbor—albeit, Jane assured her, a nosy, bored, very light sleeping neighbor with nothing better to do—to call 911 under the assumption that a murder was being committed. No, she thought ruefully, just a somewhat frustrated medical examiner having her mind unexpectedly blown by her best friend, a tall, dark and extremely good looking detective with a few secrets she had been keeping very close to the vest, mainly a deep, longstanding, unrequited love for Maura herself. Still, Jane had seemed to think the whole thing was hilarious as long as they kept to Maura's house for the time being, even though she had been the one assigned to interview the neighbor and head up the investigation, such as it was.

"What will you do? Maura had asked. They had eventually made their way to the morgue, with a small detour in the elevator to say good morning at length, courtesy of the emergency stop button and Jane's assurance, between kisses and a good deal more, that there were no surveillance cameras.

Jane perched on the autopsy table, her legs dangling just above the floor. "Investigate. I've already interviewed one witness."

"Really? I…oh, I, that was me. Never mind." Maura felt herself completely lose her train of thought again at the memory of exactly how that interview had gone. "Did you learn anything interesting?" she joked.

"Besides the color of your…wait, I already knew that." Jane grinned as she hopped down, crossing to where Maura stood, sorting through microscope slides and making no headway at all. "Hey, look at me." Her voice had softened to a warm, confiding tone. "I know we've spent more time, um, 'being together', than talking about this, but I'm serious. It's not just a physical thing, you know that, right? I don't know exactly where it's going, but I know I'm going with you. It's like we spent years dating already and I got excited, catching up on what we missed. Honestly, the only question I have is why someone like you would wanna be with me."

Maura nodded, clutching the slides in her hands. "You must not know yourself very well then," she said, feeling an enormous smile begin to grow. "Maybe I could explain it better, if we're still on for morning coffee?" Their code word, she had thought giddily. They had a code word for date night. "To be honest, your proximity is having a negative effect on my mental processes at the moment. That's a compliment, by the way."

"Really?"

Maura nodded, hasty but definite. "So, seven o'clock? Bring your new mug and in the morning I'll show you how to make espresso."

Jane kissed her, quickly but with intent, mindful that they were at work. "A double," she murmured. "I think you'll need it."

And with that, Jane Rizzoli effectively destroyed any chance she had of getting any work done for the next hour.

Now, later that same night, Maura found herself on the couch in her own living room, struggling to remember how in the world she had wound up there. She shifted, turning to look for the clock and found herself caught in a gentle but unrelenting embrace. Apparently what she had mistaken for couch cushions was in fact...

"She wakes." Jane brushed the hair back from Maura's forehead. "There you are."

"I'm so sorry—you must think…" Maura shook her head, trying to clear it, and gave up. She let her forehead sink back down to Jane's shoulder and felt the detective's hand come to stroke the back of her head, steady and reassuring. "I don't usually pass out like that." Jane's fingers sank into her hair, finding her scalp and gently massaging.

"I'll take that as a compliment."

Maura wondered how much time had passed, but couldn't bring herself to move. She could feel a low hum of physical satisfaction thrumming through her and the game was still on, so it couldn't be midnight yet unless it had gone into extra innings. Maura's eyes shot open.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I just…I just remembered…"

Jane's chuckle came rumbling up, turning into a full fledged laugh. "You really did pass out. Is it coming back now?"

* * *

As with so many things, it had started innocently, just like the night before at Jane's apartment, Maura realized. All she had intended to do was help her friend assemble her new bed. Yes, there had always been chemistry between them, friendly sparks, even flirting, but nothing to suggest to her that they would wind up on the mattress itself, having the most intense and unforgettable sexual experience of her not inexperienced thirty odd years. But then, Maura considered, she was also the dumbest genius Jane had ever met.

At least tonight she had opened the front door knowing that she was letting in more than a friend, far more, and fully expecting something to happen by morning.

"I've decided," she had announced. They were sitting together on the couch, as closely as ever (again, how had she missed that?). "Since your mother's out for the night and we don't have anywhere to be, I want you to show me the bases."

Jane, who had been comfortably working on her first beer of the night (which admittedly took longer when there were so many other interesting things she could do with her mouth now), began to quietly choke.

"Are you all right? Do you need help? If you're choking, you need to put the beer down," Maura said in growing concern. "The universal symbol for choking requires both hands to…"

"Fine," Jane wheezed. She leaned forward, elbows on knees, and managed to get the coughing under control. "Fine, I—repeat that?"

"Show me the bases."

"We, uh, kinda covered that last night, more or less. Well," she shrugged, "might've skipped one, I was kinda excited, but I think it still counts."

Sometimes Maura Isles had absolutely no idea how to interpret what came out of Jane's mouth. But it was such a lovely mouth, and…"

"Hey, Maur? You OK?"

"Mmm? Yes, fine. The bases—I had just thought that since we'll be spending more time together...I mean, I certainly hope we will," she said cautiously, "that it would be a good idea for me to learn more about the things that are important to you. Based on our exchanges, the Red Sox are in your top three conversational topics, next to gun control legislation and your mother. So," her hand slid into Jane's, their fingers instinctively lacing together. "Would you teach me the rules?"

Jane's grin had shifted from amused to something much more complex. She gently pulled Maura to her, her free hand coming up to cup one cheek. "You really want to spend your night talking to me about baseball?"

"Yes." Jane's voice was making it very hard to concentrate, but she was at least certain of that much. "Well, we can do other things too, but yes."

"What if…" Jane had somehow gotten her body to move without her permission, something she was very good at it seemed, at least based on last night. Now they were lying together, entwined comfortably on the couch, still able to watch the television screen with the game Maura had carefully selected after studying the sports pages at length at lunch while trying very hard not to think about Jane and that damned mattress. "What if we could kill two birds with one stone?"

"Efficiency is a vital scientific principle, perhaps best demonstrated by the well known example of Occam's Razor which…" Maura trailed off as Jane had kissed her again, one hand on the back of her neck. There was some nerve bundle there, like what she assumed caused a kitten to go limp when its mother gathered it by the scruff, and Jane had somehow located it in her.

"That's first base." Jane kissed the tip of her nose. "And then there's second, third and home, each one more likely to get you shot by someone's angry Dad. Sorry, but when you said bases, I thought—well, with you right now I have one thing on the brain, so…."

"Really?"

Jane nodded and kissed her again, and Maura felt herself lose touch once more with the couch, the room, the city itself.

"Mm hmm. So that was first, and this…" Maura felt the hem of her shirt lift, the one which had emerged victorious from a rigorous selection process and which she suspected was about to become completely irrelevant, as one hand slipped upward and then, for absolutely no good reason, stopped centimeters short of its logical goal.

"Wh—" Maura realized she didn't have quite enough air in her lungs and tried again, only slightly less breathless this time. "What?" She looked at her chest and up at Jane, then back. It wasn't as if Jane hadn't done this before, exactly 24 hours ago to be precise, and had done it damned well—tender, insistent, attentive, a dozen other things, except at the moment _nothing_ was happening. "What?" she demanded.

"Hmm." Jane was squinting up at the TV screen, intently following the play, then made regretful face as she looked back to Maura. "Unfortunately, Ellsbury just got picked off at first, so he won't be making it to second yet…and neither will you."

"Ex-excuse me?" Maura stammered. "I—we—this depends on the game? That thing, that game?" She pointed at the screen with an unsteady hand. Her whole body was brimming with endorphins and now she was at the mercy of a group of professional athletes who might never have finished college and had absolutely no _idea_ what was at stake here?

"It's OK, s'OK," Jane murmured, kissing her forehead "He's just the lead off man—you've got at least two more chances this inning. This next guy's good against a left-handed pitcher, we call that a southpaw, and if he gets on, you've got another shot."

Maura thought it was good that BPD didn't issue guns to MEs or that wouldn't be the only thing getting shot. "Please tell me you're joking," she whispered.

A cheer went up from the television and Jane kissed her again, more patiently this time, lingering and thorough. What breath she'd had before was utterly gone now.

"Solid single," Jane murmured. "Don't worry, the guy up now, Pedroia, leads the league in doubles. Trust me." She kissed Maura's chin, nuzzling along the line of her jaw. "We'll get you home safe."

Several tortuous innings and innumerable fly balls later with the score still tied at 0, Maura's mind experienced the equivalent of a core reactor meltdown when Pedroia, who had indeed gotten her to second base not once but twice thank God, was called out at home in face-first slide, leaving two runners in scoring position.

"Please, _God_," she had begged, her voice rising steadily. "He was safe, it counts, he _touched_…" There had been promises as well, and a threat or two, but Jane was nothing if not law-abiding and kept her hand where it was, standing by the umpire's ruling.

Maura had reached a state of frantic incoherence in the sixth when Victorino finally hit a short grounder to second which took a lucky hop and allowed the runner at second to score. She had done her best to stifle her cries, which was utterly impossible with Jane murmuring encouragement in her ear, telling her how beautiful she was, that she could let go now, that Jane would catch her, always, always, sweetheart, now, yes, now… The blood pounding through her ears rose to drown out all but the final words—_I love you_—which triggered her climax. Convulsing beyond control, she was held securely only by Jane's full weight, bearing them down into the couch, her wrists gently but firmly pinned to keep her from accidentally striking out. To say the moment was more violent and consuming than she had ever had before would be something like saying Mt. Vesuvius had experienced a tiny seismic blip a few thousand years ago.

"So how do you feel about baseball now?" Jane had kissed Maura's closed eyes, pulling her now limp body into her arms and trying to calm her back to coherence. She had been good for little more than soft whimpers, her fingers clutching the collar of Jane's shirt, for the last five minutes.

"I'm a fan." The words came on a weak moan but accompanied by a smile. "I'm a fan."

Jane chuckled as she reached to pull a fleece blanket down from the back of the couch, tucking it in around Maura. "From the way you were screaming _yes, yes, don't stop, yes_, as he rounded third, I think you'll fit right in at Fenway. I have tickets next weekend if you're interested, but you'll need to wear clothes. Seriously, you're sure you don't have neighbors in earshot? Cavanaugh's not going to like having another mysterious report of murdered woman but no corpse."

Maura felt the blood start to rise in her face again, remembering how helpless she had been to stop the screaming as she fell apart in Jane's arms, and she didn't risk opening her eyes. "I…I don't usually…"

"Jesus woman, do _not_ apologize for that. When I hear you, I feel like I'm the one who hit the home run. And I have," Jane added softly. Her fingertips were tracing patterns up and down Maura's bare arm as it lay across her chest. "You're my home run."

Before she could reply, Maura had passed out cold.

* * *

Now, slowly coming back to herself and resting in Jane's arms as her memory returned, Maura wasn't sure she would be able to make it to the bed. The problem wasn't that she was too blissfully comfortable to move, although that was true enough, but rather that she wasn't certain her legs worked anymore.

"I don't know if I can make it up the stairs," Maura said slowly. "But it's in your best interests to help me try."

"No, sshh, this is great." Jane had shifted them slightly so they lay on their sides, spooned together, their feet tangled, one arm across Maura's waist and the other pillowed under her head. "You, me, a game…you. Perfect."

The brief nap was having a surprisingly strong effect on Maura as she shook off the lingering disorientation. Not that she was keeping track for any specific purpose, but she couldn't help her nature. In the last 24 hours she had experienced no less than three orgasms, any one of which had been more intense and satisfying than any other past ten combined. On the other hand, she thought uncomfortably, Jane's record (again, not that they were keeping score, but that was the metaphor) wasn't nearly as favorable. In fact, it stood at 0.

"Is there another game on?" Maura twisted around to face Jane, eternally grateful that she had taken her friend with her when she went shopping for a replacement couch two years ago. It was Jane who had insisted on the one with the deepest cushions and the most room to stretch out. Looking back, knowing now how long Jane had been in love with her, she wondered if this had been in her mind all along. Looking up into those warm, dark eyes, she suspected it might have been.

"I think—why?" Jane chuckled. "I thought you said you were all played out."

"You have some catching up to do." Maura nuzzled against her, giving the clavicle a very light nip, grateful for the way Jane closed her eyes, arching her neck. "I think in baseball terms, it should be your at bat."

Jane said nothing but her eyes opened and her hands, which had been comfortably locked together across the small of Maura's back, slid up to her shoulders. "Yeah, it's late, don't worry about that."

"It's all your fault." Maura hoped that her hair wasn't sticking up on one side as she feared it was—nothing looked sillier than someone trying to look seductive with a cowlick. "You keep being your amazing self and I keep passing out. And the elevator didn't count."

"Oh, it counted." Jane's smile was back now, almost seeming to revel in that quick interlude, moments after Maura had confirmed her feelings in return. "It, uh, it didn't seem like the right time to bring this up, but there's something I should tell you."

Maura nodded, still kissing exposed skin, until more time had passed than should have been necessary. She looked up and saw Jane staring straight up at the ceiling, one corner of her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

Maura waited another minute, growing impatient. "You haven't saved enough to finish transitional surgery?" she guessed.

Jane's face froze as her jaw slowly worked at the air. "_No_," she said firmly, articulating with a precision rare for a one syllable, two letter word. "What the…where the hell did that come from?"

It occurred to Maura, and not for the first time, that her way of processing the world wasn't shared by everyone. "When I have something awkward I need to talk about, I try to think of what the very most sensitive, difficult thing to say would be and then by comparison, the reality seems much less daunting. I thought that applying that principle might help. And you must admit that you're very tall," she added in a rushed undertone, "but I would still love you and want to be together, it wouldn't matter."

Relief, frustration, and helpless laughter were battling on Jane's face. "Yeah," she sighed, "you would. Sorry, nothing that exciting. It's not a big deal really and it actually works in your favor."

Maura slid one hand to lie flat against Jane's chest, seeking out the beat of her heart. "Given what your pulse is doing, your adrenal system thinks it's a very big deal actually."

"That's the funny thing about my heart," she said tightly. "I tried to tell it not to love you and it didn't listen then either. Got a mind of its own, that one."

"You're avoiding. Stage one of the five stages."

"OK, close your eyes." Jane raised her head from the arm of the couch to look down at Maura. "Seriously, not until you close your eyes."

Dutifully, she squeezed them tight as she rested her chin on Jane's chest.

"I _love_ being with you," Jane said. "Like this, touching you, hearing you, holding you. You have no idea what that does for me and how it makes me feel inside, how I wake up thinking about you and go to sleep thinking about you, and even everything at the damned grocery store reminds me of you. But for once, this isn't about you."

Maura's stomach, which was located now somewhere around her ankles, said that it didn't believe Jane. "Then what?" she whispered.

"I, uh, have trouble with," Jane swallowed audibly, "having a, um, y'know, letting go when someone else is there. It's not you," she said hastily, "it's not—it's always been like this. I don't want you to worry that it's going to be a problem, like I'm going to stop wanting to have nights like tonight, just because I won't get anything out of it—it makes me feel incredible, God, it does. I'm fine, I can take care of myself later. And," she grinned, quickly kissing Maura who had opened her eyes and was blinking in surprise, "I've got an incredible imagination. It's like you're there with me. How do you think I made it all those years without giving everything away?"

Maura nodded, serious and careful not to react too quickly. "So you've found yourself unable to achieve orgasm with a partner? Or on your own with a partner present?"

Jane looked a little uneasy now that medical terminology had been introduced, but she shrugged. "Yeah, that's pretty much it."

"So, in baseball terms, you're an amazing pitcher, but…"

"I suck at catching. Yeah," Jane admitted, "when you put it like that, yeah. I mean, it's not going to affect you and I'm sorry if you were worried about it. Don't get me wrong, everything feels great, it's just that last part that doesn't work, and honestly I don't mind. It's like we can't always eat lunch at the same time, so you have yours and I grab something later? Most people actually seem relieved when I explain. Y'know, off the hook."

Maura refused to allow her eyes to widen as Jane explained. Relieved? How could someone possibly be relieved that they wouldn't get to watch Jane's defenses drop away, to feel the slow surrender, to look into her eyes in that moment when the spark ignited, to hold her as she came apart in a million different pieces, then comfort her as they came back together?

Maura Isles had a better than average vocabulary, even for a genius, and _relieved_ was definitely not the word she would have used.

"Hey." Jane's smile, so beautiful and full of so much bravado, was hesitant and vulnerable now. "Does that make sense?"

"Yes," Maura assured her, "absolutely." And it did. She didn't agree, but she understood, and for now she would let Jane think that was the end of the matter. Blindly disagreeing would do nothing but drive the thorn deeper in. She kissed Jane then, sweetly and wholly, holding nothing back. She allowed herself to be folded into a warm embrace, nestling her head just under Jane's chin, but her eyes were wide open, her mind anything but asleep.

Jane might have given up, but Maura? She was used to getting what she wanted in the end, and she had never in her life wanted anything as badly as she wanted to watch Jane Rizzoli come undone and know that she alone of anyone in the world had been responsible.

* * *

**(conclusion in Chapter 2)**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: See part 1, but you know I don't own this and if you haven't figured out this is an M with a brain and a heart…well, go back to part 1. **

**Yes, things get a little more heated here, but there's also a very serious point to be made as well about this growing relationship. (And if you review and guess the identity of the advice columnist, I'll send you a preview of the third and final installment. What a deal!)**

* * *

Four days later, Dr. Maura Isles sat at her desk, safely behind the locked door of her office. She had always had something of a guilty conscience about using regular work hours for personal matters, though she felt completely free to surf for designer shoes if she were waiting on test results after hours. Jane's understanding of work responsibility was remarkably more fluid. It was a miracle actually that they had been making it in to work on time at all this week, although she had to admit that the sleep she had been allowed to get was incredibly deep and relaxing. She just needed six more hours of it every night.

Last night had pushed her nearly to the limit as Jane had offered to bring dinner over to Maura's, which miraculously coincided with a Boston Red Sox double header. It hadn't occurred to Maura, who was already operating at less than full capacity, that this might mean another evening spent making out on the couch in sync to the Sox or that two games meant twice as many chances to score, which had in fact been Jane's plan. After her third climax, Maura had begun to plead weakly to be allowed to switch teams as the Orioles had yet to score at all.

"No," Jane had said thoughtfully. "I think if we're going to have a future together, you should stick with the Sox. Oh wow, line drive, going for two…"

Maura had been forced to given in to practicality that morning and switch to flats as walking at all was proving challenging, much less doing it in heels. "I hate you, Jane Rizzoli," she had muttered as she shuffled through the kitchen, but the sight of Jane at the kitchen counter, doing battle with the coffee maker and producing a truly sub-par cappuccino, made her the happiest woman alive.

Maura had no idea how long their current phase would last, but she was planning on enjoying every moment of it: riding in to work together, pretending they had met up for breakfast earlier, making excuses to Angela for why they hadn't come to the café, coming up with convoluted reasons to run errands at lunchtime so they could meet up in a deserted corner of the parking garage. She had never thought of herself as someone who had missed out by being born, as her mother put it, with the soul of a 45-year-old chemistry professor. She hadn't dated until college, and even then what the Young Scientists of America had called a hot night out had been anything but. Sex had been conducted more along the lines of a laboratory experiment—purposeful, controlled, regimented, and while not without success, certainly lacking in spontaneity and passion.

Now? Now she was having volcanic sex every day which was actually just the frosting on top of being utterly in love with her best friend who happened to have a romantic streak as wide as the Charles River, though she refused to show it to anyone but Maura. There was just one tiny problem, and that was Jane's apparent resignation that their time together, as amazing as it was, would be utterly one-sided in Maura's favor.

She pulled up a new tab in her browser, changing her search terms to _psychological impact of ptsd on female orgasm_ and began adding pages to her growing reading list. She opened another browser window, quickly checking the new anonymous email account she'd created as well. And there, glowing in the top tab, was a single digit—one new email. Maura quickly cautioned herself. It could be spam, it could be another annoying welcome message, but when she moused over to it she saw the subject line and felt a wave of hope and adrenaline come surging up from her stomach, even though she knew perfectly well that the adrenal glands were located in the kidneys.

_Re: Non-Orgasmic Partner Enquiry_

_Your letter has been chosen for inclusion in this week's column. Please be advised that excerpts may be reprinted for use with other publications connected to the syndicate._

_Dear NOPE,_

_Y'know, most people don't complain about this, but I see your point. Your girlfriend (congrats btw on making that step from BFFs to LLBFFs) rings your bell like a Salvation Army Santa on Christmas Eve, and you want to make it snow for her too._

_First off, good for you to not make a big deal of her problem. Nothing makes a hang-up worse than pointing at it in horror. Second, good for you to want to give as well as receive. Being good to your partner, being willing to give, and being game for anything are the key ingredients to a healthy physical relationship, so here's what I think._

_On the surface, the problem is that your girlfriend doesn't like being watched. She could feel self-conscious, like she's being judged and criticized which would inhibit anyone, so take eyes out of the equation. How? Hello blindfold! Sexy and cheap, plus they're not too threatening in case she has control issues. (Since you say she's a cop, I'd say that's a big flashing siren.)_

_Let her know what you'd like to try, but let it be her call. Asking face to face might seem intimidating—send an email, give her some options. You're her new favorite restaurant, so hand her a menu and wait for the order. When you get that working, you can go to step two which is…_

Maura quickly skimmed the rest of the email, her lips parted slightly, eyes flickering down the screen, absorbing each suggestion. She was surprised she hadn't thought of some of them herself, but she was also surprised that she hadn't come to work with two different color shoes given the amount of sleep she was getting. It was good practice to get an outside consultation when the problem was out of your area of expertise and that was exactly what she'd done. According to Google, this advice columnist specialized in sexual quirks, so he had seemed a logical starting point. The trick now was going to be getting Jane to accept the advice.

Ten minutes later, her text was returned.

J: Why did you make me a new email account?

M: You don't want the department to see what I sent you. Check it now.

J: Please God let it be pictures.

M: Very funny, Jane.

Ten more minutes went by. Maura rearranged the pens in her top drawer by color, then brand. Then she organized the paper clips by size and separated any that had latched on to each other, and then felt guilty for breaking up the couples and put them back together. She checked her phone unnecessarily four times. When the incoming text signal came, she nearly knocked it onto the floor in her haste.

J: No promises but come over at eight. Wear your favorite scarf.

M: What about the neighbors?

J: I had her arrested for parking in front of the hydrant.

M: There isn't a hydrant on your block.

J: She doesn't know that.

M: Jane

J: Do you want to get laid or not?

* * *

Maura only had time to knock once before the door opened and time stopped. It had a way of doing that when Jane looked at her and never more so than when she was off-duty, dressed casually with her hair loose and half-wild. She hoped it was the same for Jane, because otherwise she was just staring dumbly like someone who had an unusually well developed attention span.

"Hi," she said, unexpectedly shy.

Jane said nothing but held out one hand, fist closed. Maura didn't quite understand but put out her own hand and a brass colored key with a rounded head dropped down into her palm. "Now you don't need to knock."

Maura felt as if something in her own heart had just been unlocked and she smiled as she stepped inside, listening as Jane shut the door and absorbing the relative silence inside the apartment. "Did you really have Mrs. Cassidy arrested?"

Jane smirked. "I should have after everything she put me through. Did you know she stops by every day now to ask about our progress on 'finding the victim'? Do you know what it takes to keep from saying "Oh, I found her last night all right, naked in bed. She looked fine to me. In fact, she looked fucking fine, and she felt even better when I…"

"Jane." Maura tried to keep from laughing but it was impossible. "It's probably best that you didn't."

All she got was a grouchy shrug in return but finally a grin, then a step closer, an arm about the waist, and she was falling into the hug she had been aching for since they had parted that morning.

"No, it's Bingo night and she's gone til midnight. I, ah, see you brought your scarf."

"I did." It was pure silk from her last trip to Italy with a pattern woven in gold and moss green, which she knew was unreasonably flattering to her eyes. She had been told, in Italian as well as two other languages, that it made her eyes look deep enough to drown in, but all Maura wanted was for Jane to stare down into them now.

"Can I take your coat?"

Maura set her purse down and unbelted the Burberry overcoat, stepping out of it as Jane moved to help her. The coat slipped straight through the detective's fingers, crumpling to the floor. The expression on Jane's face seemed to indicate that her brain was processing nothing more than random syllables: _hummanah hummanah hummanah._

"Is everything all right?"

_Hummanah hummanah hummanah…_

"You said a scarf," Maura reminded her.

"Rest of your clothes?" Jane croaked.

"It seemed inefficient. We both know you'd just take them off as soon as I got here."

Patiently, Maura stood in nothing but four inch Prada heels and a green silk scarf, waiting for Jane Rizzoli to remember how to breathe. Then with trembling fingers and a stammering smile, Jane took the end of the scarf, pulling it with exquisite slowness so that it trailed over her skin, whispering its way across her shoulders.

"Close your eyes." It was only a murmur, barely a breath, but it set off an avalanche in Maura's stomach. She did as she was asked and felt the scarf being wound gently—once, twice—across her eyes and then the end was tucked into the folds. Jane had taken her by the shoulders and they were moving now, backwards just a few inches at a time through the living room.

"Trust me, just a little more, that's it…"

Maura, who had never trusted anyone more than in this moment, felt the edge of the mattress against the back of her heels and stopped instinctively. Jane's arms were around her, one hand splayed across her back with the other under her head, and the force of their movement carried them on, tipping her balance, bending her out into thin air as Jane lowered her down safely.

Unable to see, Maura tried to use every other sense to adjust herself to the room and found that the disorientation was more arousing than she had anticipated. She had always dismissed the commonly asserted notion which claimed that in the absence of a given sense, the other senses were somehow heightened to compensate, as no scientific evidence had ever been offered to establish this seemingly logical premise. Now, pinned beneath her lover's body, every nerve ending on fire, she was already composing the abstract she would attach to her future journal article on the topic.

Without sight, every sensation had amplified, pouring in through her skin. Jane's kiss was crushing sweetly against her mouth and her ears could hear nothing beyond the sound of their mingled breath, ragged now as they lay together. She breathed in the scents of coffee, leather, cinnamon and cedar, filling her lungs with everything that reminded her of Jane—early mornings together at the cafe; the jacket that made her look like some kind of avenging angel; standing in the Rizzoli kitchen at Christmas with Angela's cinnamon rolls; the way Jane's sweaters smelled when they came out of the storage trunk at first snowfall.

Maura's skin, already tingling from the cool air, was wildly alert as every touch made her nearly jump. Jane's hands were sliding over her, nearly tickling as they passed across her stomach and sides, coaxing out sounds that she had promised herself she wouldn't make ever again, or at least not until the next time they made love.

Maura had always thought of herself as a fairly strong-minded, independent person when it came to her relationships, capable of articulating what she wanted and expecting the respect she deserved. Now, having the undivided and unrelenting attention of the most stimulating partner she'd ever had, she was finding herself simply struggling to keep up with what was being done to her—all of it welcome, satisfying and consensual, but frankly overwhelming.

Maura bit back a gasp as she felt a kiss much lower on her stomach than she had expected and Jane's long, sensitive fingers trailing across her hips, the lightly callused fingertips setting her skin on fire in their wake. Maura pressed her hands flat against the mattress to keep herself from rolling their bodies over—that would be the last thing Jane needed, to feel pressured into a response that she didn't feel she could give. But the sheets beneath her, cool and crisp like silk under her bare back, reminded her of Jane's skin, which Maura hadn't really touched yet in the way she wanted to and the similarities were only making it harder to hold back.

The sheets…_the sheets_…

"J-Jane. Wh-which…which sheets?"

Jane lazily moved back up the length of Maura's body, laying claim with her mouth as she went. That journey took a wonderfully agonizing amount of time to complete until she was lying beside Maura again, tracing the outline of one ear with her fingertip. Maura was fairly certain that ear was about to implode.

"What about the sheets?"

"Where…did you…buy them?" Her breath was coming too quickly and she tried to force it to slow, thinking of the structure of a benzene molecule, if her car needed maintenance, if…

"They're yours." Jane's mouth was outside her ear now, nipping her earlobe, and Maura's breath left her completely. "I found them in your linen closet."

"You took my sheets?"

Lazily, Jane circled one of Maura's wrists with her hand and pinned it lightly above her head, then brought the other up to join it. One leg slipped between her own and there was nothing, nothing she could do to stop it. "No. I'm taking _you_. Sheets came with the package."

At that point, time became irrelevant to Maura Isles as she floated away, higher and higher. The hands that were teasing and gathering up the threads of her sanity were still tender, but there was something more aggressive in Jane tonight. Love was bordering on lust, playfulness had turned possessive, and where there had been curiosity, now she was simply claimed, repeatedly, until she lay exhilarated, exhausted and spent in Jane's arms. Long minutes passed as Jane held her, stroking her back and whispering words that meant absolutely nothing and yet told her all she needed to know, that she was loved and safe and always would be.

With what was left of her consciousness, Maura struggled to stay awake, fighting off the crushing urge to sleep and recover herself. She fought the impulse to push the scarf away, to free her eyes so she could look at Jane again and see the reassurance and affection on her face, and she forced herself to lie still. Maura couldn't say that she had spent any significant amount of time praying in her life until now, but she was making up for it on Jane's behalf tonight.

She lay perfectly still on the mattress, letting her breath grow steady and quiet as if she had gone to sleep. And really, she thought, that was perfectly logical. It seemed all she had done for the last week was have incredible sex and fall asleep immediately afterwards. Her senses had adjusted while they made love and even still blindfolded she could sense where the foot of the mattress was and where the couch and television were, and now as Jane gently pulled away she could tell they lay close together, no more than a foot and a half between them although it might as well have been the Atlantic.

Maura lay as still as death, something she knew a thing or two about, and listened.

A faint rustle, a shifting of the sheets…a held breath released, then held again…

_Please_, her mind whispered, _please let her know she's safe with me…_

More rustling and a small dissatisfied exhale, a tone Maura recognized—tension was building, but not resolved…

_You can show me_, she thought, _I won't say anything, I won't tease you…whatever you fear, even if you don't know, you can trust me._

Jane's breath caught audibly, quickening, and there was the very tiniest of frustrated growls ending on a higher, hopeful note.

Maura made herself a living stone, her legs and arms unable to move, to reach for Jane the way she ached to. _Please—I won't hurt you, I love you, Jane, sweetheart, I just want…_

There was a new sound, a muffled gasp this time, a soft mutter and the mattress moving slightly, then with greater force. Without warning, Maura felt something bump her hand as it lay sprawled next to her face. With everything she had in her, she forced her fingers to lay limp, waiting for a second touch that might never come.

Then just as suddenly, they brushed again, Jane's hand closing on hers, their palms locked together, clasping as tightly as if she had been on the verge of falling backwards off a building and Maura was the only person who could save her. Which really wasn't so far from the truth.

_Let go…let go…I'll catch you…_

Jane's body began to shake as the orgasm took her with sudden force, the silent shuddering absorbed by the mattress. Her final choking gasp was nearly lost as she struggled to contain it but Maura heard the syllables of her own name in it and felt the fine thrill of the release spread throughout her chest, sparking a fierce pride that she struggled to contain, not even allowing herself to whisper reassurances. Slowly, Jane's hand twitched and spasmed twice more, then slipped away and Maura felt her heart dim slightly in the cooling aftermath until those same fingers brushed her hair, fumbling in awe, to pull away the scarf and reveal a room now moonlit from the window.

Maura blinked, careful not to rub her face or give Jane a reason to think there had been any discomfort. While her eyes adjusted, she confirmed that they had in fact just made love on her vintage Belgian linen sheets, a taupe set that she had reserved for the guest bedroom but which now belonged irrevocably to Jane. Slowly she stretched, pretending to yawn. She wanted their first eye contact to be something natural, unassuming, and certainly not a soul searching gaze. What she found though when she opened her eyes was the long, dusky expanse of Jane's back, her face turned to the far wall.

For an instant, Maura opened her mouth, a small sound of disappointment poised on her lips, and then it was crushed instantly under the surge of joy rising up within her.

Her back. Jane was offering up her back, her vulnerability and need—she trusted Maura, she could offer her no clearer sign. Quietly, she slid across the space between them, curling to fit herself to Jane's body, her arm across her waist, her face pressed to Jane's neck, covering her back and their legs twined together, skin to skin with nothing between, their hearts slowly finding pace and time with each other.

Blindly, Jane reached for Maura's arm, the scars Hoyt had left gleaming faintly in the moonlight, and gently Maura placed both her own hands over top of Jane's, covering the wounds with her own body.

"It's all right," she whispered. "I'm here. I've got you, sweetheart. I'm here now."

With a small shuddering sigh, Jane Rizzoli nodded, exhaled, and fell asleep.

* * *

**A/N: There will be a third and final story to bring this full circle—coming soon, "The Eyes of Maura Isles".**


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